Requiem Americano was completed in 2022 after nearly two years of composition, beginning in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020. Though the work is not explicitly about the pandemic—aside from the third movement—it emerged from that period of isolation and uncertainty, providing a creative framework to explore broader American societal issues. The piece is notable for its unique approach: a fusion of the traditional European requiem form with American musical idioms, making it distinct in both scope and intent. In 2023, the piece was awarded an Honorable Mention by the American Prize in Composition.

The title draws from Caffé Americano, a coffee style that originated when American soldiers during World War II requested their espresso be modified to resemble the coffee they drank at home. In a similar spirit, Requiem Americano adapts the European requiem tradition, infusing it with American folk, popular, and nationalistic styles. This blending of genres creates a familiar, approachable musical language while addressing complex societal themes with seriousness and nuance.

The work is structured in nine movements, framed by the traditional Introit and the non-traditional closing Hymnus Ad Exequias Defuncti. Each inner movement addresses a different issue within American life, with motifs and themes recurring throughout.

The Introit opens with a few solitary notes in the trumpets followed by a dramatic chromatic descent in the orchestra. A tenor soloist then enters with traditional liturgical text, later joined by chorus. Foreshadowing motifs appear in the orchestral accompaniment, unveiling musical ideas that will surface in later movements.

The Kyrie is one of the most narrative-driven sections, reflecting on the lingering scars of the Civil War. A solo fiddle introduces “Lorena,” a beloved tune from the era, which morphs into a hymn-like melody reminiscent of rural Protestant churches. Elements of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” are layered with the Kyrie text before war erupts musically with “The First Gun is Fired.” The “fiddle” returns in the end, but this time, as a dark viola solo closing the movement. Its music now changed—symbolizing the transformation of the young protagonist by war and signifying emotional scars and unresolved national divisions.

Gradual & Tract merges two liturgical components into one, using shape-note choral music from The Sacred Harp, a folk tradition passed through generations in the American South. Sung in English, this movement reflects on activities lost during the pandemic—communal singing—and expands its scope to the present, highlighting how digital silos and online life continue to increase social isolation even after lockdowns have ended.

The Dies Irae addresses anti-immigration sentiment through the lens of Mexican-American musical heritage. It reimagines the traditional Day of Judgment text as a dramatic, and at times, lighthearted narrative. A tenor soloist gradually realizes that the fate he sings about also applies to himself. Incorporating Mexican-American styles affirms their essential role and contribution to American music, echoing how immigrant traditions—including a particular British melody that became the U.S. national anthem—have long added to the nation’s cultural fabric.

The Offertory takes on the topic of hypercommercialism. Written in the cinematic style of early 2000s American film scores, it conjures an imagined ritual where consumers are sacrificed to corporate greed. The movement critiques the ever-increasing saturation of marketing and advertising in daily life—from entertainment and social media to even the spaces once considered free from ads.

Sanctus reflects on the tragedy of school shootings. It begins with haunting low brass, followed by a youth chorus singing “Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus [Holy, Holy, Holy].” The full choir joins, but shortly after, the music fractures. Voices splinter into layered fragments, including the haunting line “Pleni sunt coeli [Heaven is full],” sung by tenors, underscoring the devastating toll on children. Snare drums evoke gunfire, guiding the music into a march of mourning. The chorus repeatedly exclaims “Hosanna!” driving into climactic despair, which briefly pauses before transitioning to the next movement.

The work continues into the Agnus Dei, portraying the cycle of passive response following national tragedies. While musically sincere, it reflects a cultural tendency to offer “thoughts and prayers” without pursuing meaningful change. The movement ends on a major chord, musically implying closure. But this sense of resolution is an illusion.

In Libera me, themes of incarceration and forced labor are voiced through the structure of a prison work song. A solo tenor is joined by percussion mimicking the sounds of physical labor. The tenors and basses join in, followed by the strings who take over the melody, which is mixed with the returning chromatic motif from the opening of the requiem. The movement ends with another sung refrain, reinforcing the ongoing cycle of mass disproportionate incarceration.

The final movement, Hymnus Ad Exequias Defuncti, is a setting of excerpts of a text by the 4th-century writer Prudentius. The central line, “For all created things must wane,” becomes the philosophical crux of the requiem. It opens with solemn, patriotic music, evoking a national funeral, before erupting as the full weight of societal failure is realized. The chorus then begins a slow, building lament, with fragments of earlier movements layered into a dense, emotional climax. But as the movement reaches its final peak, it withholds resolution. The final notes quote the Agnus Dei, and the chromatic motif returns—signaling that despite recognition of these problems, no genuine solutions have been employed. The work ends not with closure, but with a quiet warning: history is doomed to continue repeating itself if nothing changes.